


The peculiar death of William Holmwood

by Sweetlit



Category: Original Work
Genre: Character Death, Crime Scenes, Crimes & Criminals, F/M, Gen, Investigations, Murder, Murder Mystery, Mystery, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Original Fiction, lockedroom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-20 22:40:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16147055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sweetlit/pseuds/Sweetlit
Summary: There was something striking about the appearance of Inspector Marvin Thomas, that excessively long brown hair that fell into rebellious curls on his nape, far beyond his ears, those dark, mourning clothes, completely out of fashion, and those eyes, big, black, like two dark wells.She didn't like it, she didn't like it at all.notes: this is a translation of my Italian work "la singolare morte di William Holmwood", please forgive my bad English since it's not my first language!





	The peculiar death of William Holmwood

Mrs. Curly had let out a strong sigh, slightly shifting her weight on the cushions, her wrinkled forehead in a contrite expression:   
They'd been locked in that room for hours, unable to move or even just try to get out of the house, tired and with their limbs anchored to those uncomfortable armchairs.   
He knew that it was now a matter of minutes, soon the inspector would enter through the creaking door in the hall and reveal to those present the results of the investigation.   
She had trembled vaguely, her gaze moving to the burning fireplace in front of her: in many years of service as a housekeeper, she would never have imagined that she would find herself in a similar situation, yet. . .   
A sound of steps with known cadence in the atrium had violently redeemed her from her thoughts, sending her back with her mind to that terrible day of two weeks earlier, when her master, Mr. William Holmwood, had been found dead in that same living room, his head collapsed on a bundle of letters he was filling out, his omnipresent pipe still clenched in his fist, in a stiff grip.   
That day she was sitting in the same armchair in the same identical position, her nose contracted in a vague expression of contempt for the hundredth time that afternoon: it was inevitable, every time she met that man's gaze it came naturally to her to snob him, like cleaning the tea filter.   
Mary, the waitress, had been quietly crying behind her, waving in her chair, unable to find a comfortable position for her.   
"Mary, for God's sake, will you please stop squirming like that?" Mrs Curly berated the girl, annoyed.   
"I'm sorry. . . " Mary said in a whisper, her gaze fixed on the woollen carpet at her feet.   
Mrs. Curly had shaken her head, staring upset at her: it had only been two months since that little girl had set foot in that house, and all she had done was cause disasters. Her attention had shifted back to the young Inspector of Scotland Yard, when he had emitted a slight cough.   
Again, the expression of disgust had returned to her face: there was something striking in the appearance of Inspector Marvin Thomas, that excessively long brown hair that fell into rebellious curls on the nape of his neck, well beyond his ears, those dark, mourning, completely out of fashion clothes, and those eyes, big, black, like two dark wells. She didn't like it, she didn't like it at all.   
"Forgive me, Madame Curly," The Inspector had spoken, nearing her.   
"Yes, Inspector?" She had nodded, trying to behave and mask her outrage.   
"You are Mr. Holmwood's housekeeper if I have understood correctly?" He had smiled at her with his glabrous face, completely devoid of moustaches.   
"Exactly" she had confirmed, proudly straightening the back.   
"And did you actually find the body?"   
"No! It was Mary, the waitress" she had pointed to the girl behind her, who had widened her ice-colored eyes into two lakes of terror.   
"Oh, yes! Mary Border, right?" read Marvin Thomas from a notebook filled with scribbles.   
"Yes," Mrs. Curly had meddled, when the girl had only managed to weakly absent with a nod from her head.   
"So the last person to see Mr. Holmwood alive was. . . "   
"I, Aloysius Mortimer" had intervened the butler behind him, with a slight bow. He was a very tall man, with an aquiline nose and raven hair combed with extreme care backwards.   
"Interesting" had commented the policeman, staring in a penetrating way at those present.   
"Excuse me, Inspector," Mrs. Curly had called him, "but I don't understand the need for all this forceful deployment. At the end of the day, Mr. Holmwood. . . "  
"Died of cardiac arrest? Maybe. Nevertheless, I am almost certain that he was MURDERED." He announced, without taking his eyes off his notebook.   
"WHAT?" both women shouted in unison.   
"Inspector!" had thundered the butler, taking an outrageous step standing up. "Mrs. Curly and I have been at the service of our master for years, how you even dare to suggest that one of us may. . . "   
"According to an initial reconstruction, Mr. Holmwood was in the living room typing letters, Mr. Mortimer. "   
"Sure, he did it every afternoon, but. . . "   
"But what we found, still stuck in the typewriter, is very different from a letter. "   
"And what would that be?" Mrs. Curly had asked, confused.   
"A Will. Brand new, I suppose. "   
"A Will?"   
"Yes, that would apparently make Miss Mary his sole heir within days. "   
Inspector Thomas had slowly planted his icy eyes on everyone present.   
"I think we're gonna have a lot to discuss. . . "   
Since that fateful day, Inspector Thomas's dark, mocking eyes had been everyone's nightmare, and now they were scrutinizing her with unparalleled sparkle from the entrance to the living room, sharp and vivid.   
"Inspector!" Mary had jumped: she must have been so immersed in her thoughts that she didn't even notice the arrival of authority.   
"Mademoiselle" the man had replied wiith a gentle bow, in an impeccable French accent. "Well, I see you've all already reunited. I'm glad," he'd continued, clapping his hands in a satisfied way.   
"You seem in a very good mood this afternoon, Inspector Thomas. . . " commented Ms. Curly, acidic. ". . . unfortunately, we certainly cannot share your joy. . . "  
"Oh, you can, Madame. . . " the man had contradicted her, taking himself to the center of the room to better draw attention. " . . . because I am about to reveal to you the truth about what happened", he had announced them, the crackling of the fireplace behind him producing a disturbing yellowish reverberation on his irises.   
Mortimer had given out a strong cough, apologizing immediately afterwards in a subdued tone.   
"Are you all right, Mr. Mortimer? Would you like a glass of water?" was immediately at his side the Inspector.   
The butler had shaken his head, visibly disconcerted by the overly democratic attitude of the policeman.   
"Very good. Let us therefore quickly recapitulate the facts. On Tuesday, April the 2nd, Mr. Holmwood retired here, to the living room, to devote himself to his correspondence as usual. However, at the strike of five p. m. , he was found dead by the maid Mary Border."   
"That's right," had nodded the girl, twisting her hands in her lap.   
"Very good. The last time Mr. Holmwood was seen alive was around three o'clock in the afternoon when he called Mr. Mortimer to get two fingers of brandy served.   
"Another one of his habits. "Had interrupted Mrs. Curly abruptly. "He always asked for a digestive some time after lunch. "   
"Sure, sure," the cop agreed, starting to walk around the room distractedly. "At first glance, Mr. Holmwood seemed to have been struck by cardiac arrest, so dead of natural causes. Nevertheless, elements such as the New Testament found in the typewriter and the coroner's report actually proved that it was nothing more than a ruthless case of poisoning."   
An agitated murmur had passed through the room, while the Inspector had stopped to observe the flames in the fireplace.  
"I must congratulate you, Madame Curly, you have been of admirable cunning. . . "   
Mrs. Curly shrank in her chair like a wild beast caught off guard.   
"What are you talking about? I'm a housekeeper, not a murderer!" she'd laughed at him, nervously fixing her skirts.   
"You're both. You see, as you all know, Mr. Holmwood was a regular perfectionist. He always had a digestive after his lunch, as Madame Curly bothered to point us out, and he always took his tea after five. Could it have been any easier? The secret was to make everyone believe that Mr. Holmwood had died of an illness shortly after Mr. Mortimer had served him his digestive, while in fact it was the digestive itself, poisoned, that had caused his death.   
"It's not possible. . . " exhaled Mary, convulsely squeezing her chest.   
"And yet, of course, the choice of vehicle was very limited. Any one of you could have tampered with the brandy while only one person could have corrected the tea, couldn't you, Madame Curly? No, the tea was out of the question, because anyone would immediately suspect the old housekeeper. So all that was left was a chance. Incidentally, Madame Curly has served for a long time as an auxiliary nurse during the War, so she knew exactly which poison to choose and in what dose to administer it. Digitalis is a fast-acting drug if used in the right amount and can convincingly replicate the effects of a heart attack, not to mention that it is also a magnificent ornamental plant that is rich in your beautiful garden. No one would ever have dared to suspect that Mr. Holmwood might have been murdered. But even if it had happened. . . " and here he had thrown a brief look at Mary". . . what better scapegoat could have been found?"   
"This is absurd, you can't accuse Mrs. Curly of such an atrocity without evidence, you're a despicable being!" Mortimer had exploded, jumping up and down and stopping a few inches from the cop's nose.   
"I think there are many things that Madame Curly didn't tell you about, Mr. Mortimer," he just smiled at Thomas, putting his arms together.   
A heavy silence had fallen on the room, broken only by Mrs. Curly's sudden laughter.   
"I knew that you would be the end of me from the very first moment, Inspector," she'd commented, rubbing her eyelids several times.   
"I'm sorry, Aloysius, but he's right. I did this. I poisoned him," she had finally confessed, raising a look full of remorse towards the elderly butler.   
". . . Julia. . . " he'd whispered, distraught.   
"Let's just say that Mr. Holmwood and I had an unpleasant past many years ago. So, when I heard that he was going to draw up a new Will in favour of the young maid, I immediately understood how things stood".   
"While the original Will left the entire estate to your son," added Thomas, nodding.   
"Exactly" confirmed Mrs. Curly, collapsing the entire weight of her body in the chair. It was over. Now all that awaited her was the gallows.   
"Julia, you and Mr. Holmwood?" had repeated Mortimer's upset, taking the old woman's hand among his own.   
"Mr. Holmwood was much less of a gentleman than he liked to show," she'd smiled sadly, peeking at Mary in the face, who had blushed violently and turned to stare at the wall behind her.   
"After Mr. Holmwood was. . . dead, I sneaked in here and replaced the poisoned glass and brandy with new ones. None would ever have thought he'd been poisoned. I thought I'd made it. . . but I was wrong," Mrs. Curly explained, convulsely shaking the hand that Mortimer was still holding out to her.  
"Yes, Madame. You made a very small but fatal mistake." Marvin Thomas had replied, while other policemen came into the living room, ready to arrest the housekeeper. "You forgot the pipe, another pastime that Mr. Holmwood never gave up after a good brandy. The traces of poison on the mouthpiece were evident".   
Mrs. Curly had uttered a choked verse and cursed in a low voice, shaking Mortimer's hand one last time with all her might, before being taken away. 

THE END


End file.
